Long Navy Poems
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It was a train
that took my mother west
away from her family farm
to seek adventure. She found work in San Diego,
joined the Navy and met my dad.
It was the 1950’s.
Planes were not yet a big deal
and many traveled long distances
by train.
It was a train
that carried my mom away
from a husband impossible to live with.
The year was 1960. For traveling far,
the train was the poor man’s choice.
Trains and buses were plentiful
when my mom brought her 4 young girls
back to her parents’ farm
to then start over.
It was a train
that my father purchased two tickets for
so that my sister and I could visit with him
out west where he lived near Seattle.
The year was 1969.
On a black and white TV, with my dad,
we watched astronauts walking on the moon.
It was a time of social unrest, and technology would soon
be soaring past the moon!
It was a train
that brought my sister and I home
from the lovely visit with our dad.
I recall having to walk past a troop of flirty boy scouts
that occupied one of the train’s cars
each time my sister and I made our way to the dining car.
We watched mountains turn into cornfields
as the train carried us back toward the Mississippi.
A most memorable experience it was.
It was a train
that brought me only a few other times after that
to visit my dad out west or my mother in Iowa
as I traveled with a spouse and two sometimes-wailing kids.
Like a train, my life kept moving.
After 1984, I’d use the train no more.
Trains had become nostalgic ways to travel -
used more by people with the luxury of time,
people who enjoyed eating meals as
scenery sped past them outside their windows.
It’s the plane
that modern rushed humanity today are using.
Buses are low-class and cars are for road trips.
Trains, though still running, are not much heard of.
It’s not so easy to find
a very accommodating route by train.
My life has flown by like a plane,
but if it should ever slow down,
I think I’d like to take again – a train!
Oct. 27, 2021
For the Railroads, A Historical Glance Back Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
As like every other loving child growing up
In my early years, I have always looked up to my father
I was over-whelmed by his creativeness...
How he improvised and jury-rigged his make-shift concoctions
My mother would constantly call him "Mr. MacGyver"
As the years passed by and the times were changing
He was still stuck on his old ways
When my brothers and I were growing our hair long...
He would still be keeping his slick Navy crew-cuts
When we would walk around with our scruffy faces
His face would always be neatly shaved
When we walked in our wholly jeans
His attire would always be in a suit and tie
When we greeted our friends...
We would say "Hey, what's happening man"
When he greeted his friends....
He would usually say "How are you"
My dad had passed away a decade ago
Still resting on the end table beside his bed
Is the dial phone he used to call me on
He was one old dog that you could never teach a new trick to
"Intransigence"
Intransigence Poetry Contest
Sponsored By John Hamilton
7-15-2019
Blue washes over me sometimes and will not let me go.
Melancholy soon becomes the ROAR of frothing ocean waves,
toppling me into navy blue.
Frustration too arrives, sometimes in the form of gulls screaming in my mind!
That is when I’m sinking sinking sinking into deep dark blue.
Other times, however, blue is light - an airy powder and nearly tranquil
except for the occasional whoosh of a gentle breeze.
I love to hear its aqua lapping lapping lapping softly at my feet
while I lie in warm white sand beneath a cloudless expanse of azure sky.
Blue is often glad - winging its way through fields and trees
singing notes from throats of happiness’ birds
or raising heads of periwinkle flowers to beautify spring and summer days.
Blue nearly fades away completely in the fall
but reappears at times as splendid sapphire sunsets
melding into cardinal, amber or rose
and utterly silent - like the stars that glisten in the indigo of night.
Once in a blue moon I might see on snow
a rare glow.
It beckons me to venture out into winter’s beauty
like a brand new lover enticingly ice blue
so many sounds and nuances of blue!
but the one I always love giggles like a child
I want to slide into a sexy sports car - shining baby blue
and glide away Vroom Vroom Vroom
11/2/2013
Entered 1/28/23
For Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 26 Poetry Contest
I was one of the cool set,
navy blue duffle coat, scarf around
my neck, seated at a table
in Pepe's Coffee Lounge
discussing Baudelaire
and T.S. Eliot and the demise
of the political elites.
The conscription ballot hung
over our heads helmeted
in a flowering of uncombed hair
in the winter of 1966.
We thought the world was about
to tip, that the old regime
was coughing its last
on Craven A and Camel cigarettes.
Booze was cheap and jobs
chased us down the street.
In a hundred buried silos,
annihilation was just a push
of a button away.
We partied hard beneath
the threat of that mushroom cloud.
We're old now, sit under the cloud
of our own thoughts, replaying
scratchy, worn out tracks
retrieved from the sleeves
of our neural LP's.
What we tore down back then
has been replaced with more
sinister demons that eat away
at the collective soul.
In the end, everything
is just reabsorbed.
Some of us still frequent
coffee shops and discuss
Baudelaire and T.S. Eliot,
still write poetry,
shed a tear
at the melancholic beauty
of a setting sun.
Day's later we are to arrive in Greece
and we have no Captain
and no tresure. He who cammands is A fearful foolish person.
The oils are resticted due to his fear of thrist
and the fruit stored have soured
due to his lack of knowledge.
The salted fish shall fill these bellies
until we have sailed into Greece
and what sjhall we tell these people.
Scylla has taken both Captain Crew and treasure.
What are they to say of us.
They arrived at Crete, and ships met them.
They ordered us into a particular place in the harbor one said.
They asked nothing and we said nothing.
We were ordered to stay aboard, we stayed in harbor
for Five days. On the Night of the fifth day meats and
wines were sent aboard. Breads fresh made with salads and fruits.
The wines were like no thing we had ever tasted they were
great wines said the guy who had taken the helm.
A member of the Roman Navy had boarded the ship
he told them of a ship docked down stream that had arrived
Seven Days before them. He told them they were said to
be sunk and a Sae Creture had Swallowed them
A six headed sea Creature.
He asked them not to come ashore until he could
determine what was going on.
Casear was in Greece to hear the Operas of Beautful Women
anbd we wished you to tell your story to Casear.
I awoke to observe the infinite universe
Splayed out before me as if for my eyes only
Reminding me how minuscule I truly am
But also how truly special I am to live at all
And as I got to my feet I could only gasp
I'm standing in a sea of purple
For I was in a field enriched with lavender
And there were trees blossoming golden fruit
That shimmered like beautiful stars
I took a step forward and suddenly plunged
Into the depths of a navy blue sea
And I held my breath so long it hurt
But when I could hold it no longer I realized
I could breathe and all I could do was laugh
And watch my air bubbles ascend to the surface
There was nothing nearby so I swam up
When I broke the surface of the ocean
I found myself on a tree branch
I was so high I couldn't see the ground
So I closed my eyes real tight and made a wish
And when I opened my eyes I was on a grassy field
I watched the stars cascade from the heavens
Descending like rainbow streamers
Over a massive open field
Where moon lilies suddenly burst from the earth
Blossoming like miniature moons
Casting a beautiful and ethereal glow
That glow was my heart
And I felt more wholesome than ever before
Sense-sational Denver sings of setting, nature and motherhood.
A twang in his voice, strings sing along, a lullaby of blessings,
by a mother to a son, born beneath “Bitterroot Valley” skies.
The son, protected by a mother about to die; as she suckles him.
Her impactful words, he can’t understand, but nevertheless
she blesses him as she says goodbye; for her he’d never cry.
He’d grow up with his uncle; never knew his dad; became a man.
Wild, strong, embraced the seasons as a farmer in Montana.
All through his days, the spirit of a mother’s blessing kisses him.
And I fall in love, my window down, enticed by the fire of John’s voice.
I sing along, glory and all like a teenager, as a stranger smiles
at me, and I have to forever tone down my intimacy; not drawing
attention to this married woman. In “Wild Montana Skies,” I breathe.
Before I knew him…before he played god…I’d see him on stage.
I’d surely heard him play “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” and
“Rocky Mountain High,” in early Navy days, before I said, “I do.”
Somewhere down the line, I embrace the swoon of my heart. As if,
the strumming, refrain, and John’s voice weren’t enough, joined
in the second round repeat by Emmylou Harris; my knees buckle.
Edward Kenway was a pirate
He sailed the Spanish Main
He plundered British merchant ships
And the Galleons of Spain
Once he was a farmer
He walked behind the plough
But now he ploughed the oceans deep
He was a pirate now
He started as a deckhand
Till his bravery won through
Then he became a captain bold
And ruled a pirate crew
He sailed into Nassau
And he took that town
It was then the British Government
Ruled they must take him down
One bright sunny morning
The fleet sailed into the bay
They were British Men of War
They were going to make him pay
But captain Kenway had a plan
He knew what they must do
He slowly drained his pint of ale
The stood to face his crew
Come on lads we'll to the fort
Make them taste the cannon ball
If we surrender now me boys
They'll surely hang us all
Kenway occupied the fort
Behind its strong stone walls
He knew he had the greatest chance
To make the British fall
He had a dozen cannons
Set toward the sea
He swore an oath upon his sword
That he'd keep Nassau free
The oath that he made to them
Did his men inspire
They all swore to do the same
As the British opened fire
They felt the ramparts shudder
As the heavy metal balls
Flew through the air and thudded
Into the fortress walls
But Kenway stood before his men
And this speech he made
Fire your cannons at them boys
Lets make them afraid
We will make them shake with fear
They'll turn and run and then
They will always rue the day
They messed with Kenway's men
The pirates fired the cannons
Two British ships went down
But one hundred troops stormed the beach
They were trying to take the town
But Kenway had prepared right well
He had men upon that shore
Hidden under canvas sails
Ready for the war
The troops were taken by surprise
The pirates did attack
The were outnumbered three to one
But they sent them running back
Kenway's cannons fired again
And four more ships did sink
All the pirates roared huzzah
As they sank into the drink
Fourteen British men of war
Limped out of the bay
Their sails were torn their hulls were holed
As they sailed away
Through the years many tales were told
The legend slowly grew
Of how the British Navy
Were crushed by Kenway's crew
"I look at Uncle Roger as a blessing to our family, for he taught our family to view all people with more humanity." (loosely quoted, paraphrasing what my cousin Sylvia said to me at my dad's funeral this summer)
Here is a picture of my father, Roger Miller.
See how brightly he smiles; how sweet his eyes are.
My mom met him in the Navy before he left for Korea.
She tells us he was Valedictorian and star athlete in his high school.
When she met him, he was very personable, but the man in this photo. . .
I hardly knew him.
This is the best picture I have of him because I have so few!
I hardly knew him.
When he returned from war, mental illness followed; it consumed him.
In those days there was no decent treatment for schizophrenia.
My dad grew sicker and my mom was forced to leave him,
taking her four daughters back with her, far away, to Iowa.
Responsible and kind, my dad sent money monthly for his daughters.
He corresponded with us by mail and drove out a few times to see us.
However, I felt detached from him; I had so many questions for him.
I visited him as he lay dying this year in a hospital, hoping for answers.
He said little. His eyes - so much like mine – were still beautiful, but
I hardly knew him.
Sept. 21, 2019
For Writing Challenge 2, September 2019 - The Photograph - Poetry Contest
Sponsor, Wiishkobi Ode
Living a long life can be at times trying,
when people you've known are moving on, dying..
Eventually we all come to the end of that road.
It's best to get prepared, not just be that squashed toad..
Larry passed from lung cancer from his years in the navy..
Karen died of cancer too, of which she fought most bravely..
My dad went peacefully while he was asleep.
Micheal left while on the toilet. Good grief!
Be by accident, disease, or so-called natural causes, how
does one prepare for the "d" day that befalls us?
1. Be a good scout and prepare for the unseen and
pay close attention to your personal hygiene.
First responders who will arrive on the scene, much
prefer a fresh corpse and one that's mostly clean...
2. Before fate propels you to heavens gates or up
to the skies, get those finances in order and try
to downsize.
3.If your blessed with a good ticker, consider
donating a body part. Some one out there whose suffering
might possibly need you're heart.
Death is the ultimate climax of life so be prepared to eliminate strife.